


Just One Child

by nagi_schwarz



Series: The Oppenheimer Effect [20]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6855628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Any, Any, don't try this at home."</p><p>Rodney gives a guest lecture in Evan's physics class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One Child

“Don’t try this at home,” Rodney said.  
  
Evan stood at the back of the classroom, keeping an eye on his students. Those were famous last words, and he knew his students tended to be more impulsive, less analytical than a lot of their peers. It was why they were in his classroom and not someone else’s.  
  
“I’m serious,” Rodney said. “Evan, would you ever try this at home?”   
  
The students turned to look at him.  
  
“No,” Evan said. “The United States Air Force used to trust me with a grenade launcher on a regular basis, and I wouldn’t try this at home. Not without you there supervising, at any rate.”  
  
Damien raised his hand. “Then is it safe to be doing it here?”  
  
“With me supervising, yes,” Rodney said. Safe, yes. Legal? Kind of debatable, really. Rodney was going to teach the kids how to open a micro-portal to another universe, an inter-dimensional bridge that would last for a fraction of a second and have no effect on either universe but produce a surprising array of colors as it collapsed.  
  
Evan had reviewed with Rodney multiple times the night before. His high school students were smart, smarter than anyone gave them credit for, but they were also kids, and they required patience, patience Rodney rarely displayed for top-tier scientists. Rodney had to pretend he was teaching a group of well-trained, highly-intelligent, but non-scientific marines how to build this device in the field.  
  
Evan had done the introductory lecture, keeping it in simple terms and also eliding all mention of alternate dimensions, instead explaining that they were going to make something akin to a firework, only with physics instead of chemistry.   
  
(“You all took chemistry, right?”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Lorne.”  
  
“Then you know atoms are like little solar systems, right? Nucleus as the sun, electrons as planets in orbit.”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Lorne.”  
  
“You know that electrons all stay in their own orbits. Unless? Sasha?”  
  
“Unless they get an energy boost. Then they can jump up a shell.”  
  
“Right. And what happens when that energy fades?”  
  
“They fall back to their original shell.”  
  
“Correct. And they emit energy in the form of light. Colored light. Different colors, depending on how far they fall. That’s why fireworks can come in so many colors. Instead of using chemicals that we mix and excite and ignite, we’re going to use pure energy to make the electrons jump shells. Now, pay attention to Dr. McKay.”)  
  
The students were gathered around the lab bench, wearing lab coats and safety glasses, and watching as Rodney set up a teeny tiny naquadah generator.   
  
“What’s that?” Tina asked, pointing to it.  
  
“An experimental power source,” Rodney said. “Don’t touch it, please.”  
  
As soon as he said that, several students eyed the generator with undisguised longing. Evan cleared his throat pointedly, and Keena, who’d been sliding a hand toward it, stuffed her hand into the pocket of her lab coat with a roll of her eyes.  
  
Rodney was a good teacher when he had the time to be patient and explain (time that was rare in the middle of an emergency, Evan knew well), and as he hooked up the generator to a device that allegedly had a single element in it, a heavy one with lots of electrons to give off lots of pretty colors, he narrated each step. The ‘element’ was contained in a vacuum-sealed container where the bridge would appear. As Rodney checked the leads from the generator to the container, he explained that the element had to be in a vacuum so that no air particles absorbed the energy he was going to channel through the element. That way, the electrons of the element would receive as much energy as possible.

“All right,” Rodney said, “are we all ready? Safety glasses on?” He pulled on his own, and Evan did the same. Evan turned the lights down so the kids could get the full effect.  
  
“Now,” Rodney said, “who wants to push the button?”  
  
Keena raised her hand. Rodney cast Evan a look, and Evan nodded, so Rodney shuffled Keena around the bench closer to the button.  
  
“Ready? Count down with me, kids. Three, two, one, go!”  
  
Keena pushed the red button. A humming noise built from the generator, and tiny arcs of lightning criss-crossed the vacuum container, and then there it was. Absolute darkness. A bridge to another dimension.  
  
Rodney hit the button on the generator again, and the darkness imploded on itself.  
  
And blossomed into light. Tendrils of color unfurled like flower petals, a thousand hues and shades, colors Evan had only ever seen in dreams, and he gazed, awed, at the tiny firework in the glass tube.  
  
When it was over, the students emitted a chorus of wordless disappointment.  
  
“And that,” Rodney said, “is how you make an energy firework.”  
  
“Can you make it any bigger?” Tina asked.  
  
“I could, but that would require a bigger generator and container and other supplies that are, sadly, not conducive to a Fourth of July celebration,” Rodney said. “So, that was really beautiful, but what actually happened to make those colors? Let’s talk math.”  
  
There was a groan as the kids shuffled back to their seats. Evan turned the lights back up and resumed his post at the back of the classroom. He was pleased when he saw Tyler copying down Rodney’s formulas industriously. These were the teaching moments Evan lived for, and he’d be forever grateful to Rodney for helping him catch the interest of just one child.


End file.
